Here In This Notebook
by TheWanderingMiko
Summary: Arnold finds a notebook and decides to keep a journal to write his thoughts in. Why is it all he can think about is Helga?
1. The Notebook

Arnold stared silently down at the blankly lined page, his blue ink pen poised in his hand as he tried to will some thought to come into his mind, but thus far all he could think of was Helga. It wasn't like he liked the girl, but he didn't dislike her either.

_She can't possibly be that mean_, he scribbled along the first line, _if she was she wouldn't be nice as she is on occasion._ He tapped his chin with the pen, letting its end slip between his lips to ultimately be clasped between his incisors. It was true, if the girl really did hate him like she loved to tell him, then she wouldn't be nice to him on the many occasions that she did; he started on the second line in his notebook.

_I know that she tries to be mean to everyone but inside she's not that bad, she can be nice if she wants to be._

The boy looked over what he'd written for a long moment, they were true observations but did he really want to talk about Helga in this notebook? It was just one that he'd found, small and black with a spiral ring holding it together, he'd decided to use it as something of a journal, did he really want to write about the one girl who frustrated him beyond all else?

He stretched and glanced at the clock that took up residence on his shelves, it was almost time to go catch the bus, but he had a little more time to waste. Pressing the pen to the third line on his paper, he started scribbling down a train of thought.

_Her family doesn't seem to notice her much, so maybe she craves the attention. It would make sense; maybe the attention makes her happy, specifically my attention… Could this have anything to do with what happened on top of FTI? Maybe she really does love me like she said she did. But if she did, why did she take it back?_

Arnold stopped having filled another four lines in his little book with his scribbled handwriting. In all honesty he was sure that he wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about these thoughts, simply because no one else seemed to see the side of Helga that he did, even through her barbed words and cruel actions. Stretching back he stared at the ceiling, absently reminding himself of the events that occurred during the entire FTI episode in his life. Helga was supposed to have gotten rich off of the deal, but she had elected to help him and Gerald save the neighborhood instead. Why?

His alarm went off and he put the book and pen safely into his backpack, it was time to head for the bus stop, otherwise he was sure to be late for school if grandpa had to drive him, the old man got side tracked easily.

- - -

Helga scrawled impatiently in the little pink book with her shockingly neat cursive, trying desperately to get her inspiration into writing before it escaped her. It was yet another poem about Arnold; the boy enthralled her, haunted her thoughts day and night and served as muse to her inwardly poetic mind. There was no other person that inspired her so much, no other person that held her heart in their hand and no other person that was so subjected to the barbs that closely guarded her inner most self.

Finishing her thought, she scrawled her signature, not her full name of course but her initials, as a way of reminding herself that this was her little piece of him that she had made. Once she was done, she checked the time and shoved her journal into her bag before she headed downstairs and then out to the bus stop.

It was a frigid morning, the only reason Helga noticed this was because her scarf was missing, no doubt taken by the infamous Olga who was yet again visiting from college. Her family didn't seem to notice her, Olga was the only one that even made an attempt but the older girl was so wrapped up in herself that she really didn't provide Helga with any of the affection that she wanted or needed. What she got from Arnold may not have been the affection that she wanted, but it was certainly what she needed to go on with life, if she didn't have him she was sure that she wouldn't have survived this long. Her love of him was the only thing that she had to wake up to every day and somehow it was enough.

Leaning against the door, she laid her head back and watched her breath escape her in visible puffs, that was why she liked winter, it was a peaceful time; at least until people came along and ruined it.

- - -

_Why did she take it back? It couldn't really have been just in the heat of the moment, could it? Even after all that stuff that she said about stalking, shrines and poetry? Could it really have just been in the heat of the moment? I don't know why but that thought makes me a little sad._

The bus rattled and shook as it traveled on its route to PS.118, picking up children as it went. Arnold was sitting in his usual seat with his knees propped up and his notebook resting against them as he wrote, Gerald was listening to music beside him, not paying much attention to what he was doing; they never spoke much in the morning, he supposed it was because they were both not fully awake.

At the moment he was fully awake but he had no want to talk to his best friend who was half asleep with his headphones pulled over his ears, the music's perforating base the only thing between them. Instead he was scribbling away, his musings over Helga slowly developing; they raised questions as they went. Questions like "Why did he feel sad just because she had taken back her profession of love for him?" or "Why was he thinking about her so much?"

When the bus pulled to a stop in front of the bully's usual stop, he instinctively closed the little book, for some reason even the remote idea of her reading what was written in it embarrassed him. True there was nothing incriminating of embarrassing in it that she didn't already know about, but just the thought of her seeing proof of just how much he thought of her left him unsettled.

The usual insults erupted from the girl as she made her way to her usual seat kitty-corner in front of him, Phoebe was already there and she eagerly scooted to the side to make way for the girl. Neither of them was very large-unlike Harold who needed a seat to himself-and they easily filled the seat with room to spare. Down she sat, propping her back pack up in the remaining space and hiding behind it, Phoebe greeted her with a pleasant good morning but when the bully barely responded, the young oriental girl returned to staring out the window. Arnold supposed that they were much like he and Gerald, too tired to talk so early.

He hadn't really intended to watch her so long, he had meant to simply look at her briefly, determine if it was safe to reopen his notebook and then continue writing; but what she did next peaked his curiosity. Digging into her bag, she pulled out a little pink notebook as well as a pen and flipped it open; there was a lot of writing in the book, he couldn't read from the distance that he was at but right now that didn't interest him, just her actions did. Hunkering down right there beside the obstruction that was her book bag, she started scribbling away, her writing slowly filling the pale pink of the pages with dark blue ink, some of her writing on other pages was colors such as pink and purple, but the page that she was writing on right now was being covered in dark blue ink. She stayed completely absorbed in it, save for a few insults thrown at those that came too close, until the bus pulled into PS.118, then she closed the small book, shoved it back into her bag along with the pen and proceeded off the bus.

He'd seen that notebook before…

_Where have I seen that notebook before? It has a pink cover, pale pink pages and loopy cursive handwriting that covers most of the pages, she was writing in it this morning and I just can't place where I have seen that book before. I know I have, maybe she writes in it in class? No, I've never seen her do anything other than argue, pull pranks and do class work in class._

Arnold tapped his chin with his pen again as he stared at the half filled page in his notebook, pretending to be working on the assignment that he had been given to do which was now shoved under the notebook waiting to be done as the boy frustrated himself trying to remember just where he'd seen that little pink book before.

_Wait a second, a few months ago, before the FTI incident; there was a little pink book that I found, the one that had all of those poems in it. Everyone read it out loud until the last day when Helga ripped out the last poem and used it as fodder for a spitball to shoot at me. The book disappeared after that, could that book and hers be the same one?_

The pen fell from his hand and he stared at the paper, all of those poems, she had been standing there every time someone read one out loud and made fun of it, every single one. They had all been love poems, seemingly about him as one person had observed, all heartfelt and handsomely written if not a little corny. She'd had to stand there while her heart had been anonymously paraded before the entire class and then made fun of; she'd had to stand there while he was sure her heart had been breaking and do nothing.

"Arnold is something the matter?", the boy's head snapped up from the page that he'd been blankly staring at for some time to stare at his teacher who had become worried over him; quick as a flash he closed the notebook.

"I'm fine Mr. Simmons", he said lightly, taking the bag and putting it into his bag, the man gave him a concerned look but took the answer and returned to his desk. Thankfully it was lunch time, he had a lot of thinking to do.


	2. Feelings

Helga sat quietly at her usual table with Phoebe, having abandoned her once again empty lunch box in favor of pouring over her little book of poems. It had surprised her earlier when the usually focused Arnold had very obviously spaced out staring at whatever it was that he had been writing. He'd closed the notebook when the teacher had spoken to him, much like she would have if the adult had come snooping while she was writing her poetry.

Casting a sideways glance at the football head who sat only a few tables away, she noticed that he was once again scribbling away in the book as he half heartedly carried on a conversation with Gerald. What was in that book?! Whatever it was, it had her crush fully occupied.

- - -

"So what's with the notebook, man?", Arnold gave his friend a curious glance as he paused midway through forming a letter.

"What do you mean?", he asked.

"What do you mean 'what do I mean'?" the other boy demanded, "You've been writing in that thing all day! What's in it?!", he asked, craning to look; Arnold half closed the book.

"Just thoughts", he said lightly.

"You mean like a journal?", Gerald asked.

Yeah kinda, just random thoughts that come to me", Gerald arched an eyebrow but let the topic go as the football headed boy went back to writing.

_If that notebook really is the same one, doesn't that mean that she really does love me? That it wasn't just a heat of the moment thing but a real, true outpouring of emotion from the bottom of her heart? It it's all true, why did she take it back? And-on another note-do I feel the same way? What is it that I feel towards Helga?_

He turned the page and looked at the raised lines of his backwards writing on the paper before scrawling over them with new words.

_Helga can be down right mean when she wants to be and I try my hardest to ignore her even though she makes it difficult. She's been there almost all my life and definitely during my entire school career. All the time she is boss, mean, calls me names, pulls pranks on me, throws spitballs at me and utterly makes my life difficult from dawn until dusk. But there are sometimes when she can be really nice and those times I sorta like her, she's not so bad when she's not trying to be mean._

_Does that mean I love her? I can't picture my life without her, whether she's being nice or no. I like it when she's nice and when she's being nice, I kinda don't mind that she calls me 'football head' it seems more like a nickname instead of an insult._

The eating portion of lunch ended quickly and gave way to recess, while the rest of his classmates ran around, screaming and yelling as they played; Arnold sat with his book at a picnic table, muddling through his thoughts and feelings centered around Helga.

"Hey, Arnold, you gotta come see this, Rhonda's making Chocolate Boy do stuff for Wizzy Bars!", Sid called, as he ran up to his friend, interrupting his train of thought to which the boy smiled.

"Thanks Sid, but I really gotta finish this", the greasy haired boy gave a questioning look but only shrugged.

"Suit yourself", he said lightly before turning and running back from whence he came, calling something about making Chocolate Boy climb the flagpole. Arnold didn't really hear him though, he had turned back to the thought that he had been writing, reading it over.

_­_- - -

"Passing up the chance to watch Chocolate Boy do anything for a Wizzy Bar?! What is _wrong_ with him?!", Helga craned around the dumpster, her gaze passing back and forth between her beloved and the group of kids cheering Chocolate Boy on. It had something to do with that notebook, he'd been writing in it all day, what exactly was it? "He's so preoccupied with that book, I gotta find out what's in it!" A maniacal laugh escaped the girl only to be stifled by a sudden bout of heavy breathing from behind her.

Cracking her knuckles, the blond locked the muscles in her arm and snapped it up, feeling her fist connect with the all too familiar obstacle of Brainy's face. Satisfied with the crash she heard, she didn't even look back but instead dusted off her dress and headed inside as the bell rang.

_It's got to be something important_, Helga thought absently as she watched the boy that held her affections blindly in the palm of his hand, chewing a wad of paper to shoot at him. _It's probably about Lila; he's so in love with her. _ Letting the mushy wad of paper fly, she poised herself in innocent mode.

- - -

Arnold cringed as he felt the semi cold sensation of the spitball hit the back of his neck, Helga's aim was getting better, and she was hitting more susceptible spots than just the back of his head. Turning back he gave her a scolding look as was per normal before turning back to his notebook and pressing the pen to the next available line.

_I hate the way spitballs feel when they hit you, Helga seems to be getting better at aiming hers; the gross little mass actually hit bare skin this time instead of my hair or clothing. I look back there and she pretends to be innocent, asking 'what' when I glare at her. This is something of a routine by this point, but I guess I kinda expect it, when she didn't do it for a whole day a couple months ago I actually got worried about her. It's not like her to give up and it's just not in her blood to leave me alone._

Another spitball hit him, this time in the back of the head and he once again turned and glared at her, she gave him an innocently questioning look and after a moment he turned back and continued writing, trying to ignore the girl.

_If she likes me, then I guess that explains the amount of picking on that she puts me through, she just wants my attention, attention that she doesn't get anywhere else. So what do I feel about her?_

Another spitball hit and Arnold had to bite on his lip just to continue writing and not glare back at her again.

_I can never hold a grudge against her, I know that even while I am getting annoyed with her right now, it won't take me long to let it go. Why is that? Am I just too nice as Gerald always tells me? Or is it something else? Do I like her? Well of course I like her, but do I like her in the same way that she likes me? I mean-_

Another spitball hit, this time its effect was enough to jar his pen out of the words that he was writing and make a slight dash mark over the page. Turning back, he glowered at her, watching her laugh at him the way she always did, hiding behind that laughter like it was a shield and no doubt thoroughly enjoying the attention that she was getting from him.

He was tempted to throw his pen at her, but he knew that that wouldn't have stopped her, she would only have dodged it and he would've been sent to the office for a call home. A call home would only mean he would have to talk this all over with Grandpa, while that wasn't really a bad thing and he might have gotten some good advice, he would have only gotten half the advice intended thus making it all not worth the trouble.

Turning back to his desk, he tapped the butt of his pen on the line as though it would make it disappear; it didn't though.

_Why does she have to be so difficult?! If she really likes me, why not just come out and tell me? Why go through all this trouble?! Unless-_

Arnold paused for a moment.

_Unless she is afraid that I wont like her back, I remember I was so afraid to tell Lila that I liked her, and when she told me that she didn't like me back the way I liked her it really hurt. Maybe that's what Helga is afraid of, maybe that's why she picks on me, because if she hides her feelings and parades them under the mask of hatred, then I can't reject her._

It was a groundbreaking revelation, but something was off about it, Helga wasn't the kind of girl to just be afraid of a little pain, she seemed like the kind of girl that would be bold as brass when telling someone that she liked them.

_Maybe the reason she doesn't tell me is the same reason that she craves the attention, I am the only one that really gives her attention, her family doesn't as far as I have seen, could it be that I am the only source of love in her life? If that's true, then it makes sense that she wouldn't tell me, if I had to choose between unrequited love and no love at all, I would choose the unrequited love as well. She's afraid that if she tells me I will reject her and then her one source of love and attention will be gone._

The bell rung and Arnold rushed to put his books away, shoving everything haphazardly into his bag and bypassing Gerald who had come over and opened his mouth to say something. Helga was pushing her books into her bag and talking to Phoebe when Arnold finally reached her. She didn't seem to notice that he was even walking towards her until the little oriental girl motioned with her hand and a quick cough. As though a switch had been flipped, the bully clammed up and pulled on a glare.

"Whadaya want Arnoldo, and make it snappy, I gotta get to the bus!", she snapped at him; the football headed boy was tempted just to give it up for now but decided against it.

"Helga, will you walk home with me? I need to talk to you.", the girl looked utterly surprised, as did Phoebe and probably Gerald if he had heard what his best friend had just asked his tormentor. It took a moment for Helga to recover, but when she did she immediately brushed it off as though the request had not had such a profound effect on her.

"Whatever floats your boat, Football Head", she snapped lightly, Phoebe and Gerald both said quick goodbyes and ran to catch the bus, and Arnold was left alone with the bully, set on a long walk home. Well, she had agreed right? That was something to be confident about, at least he hoped so.


	3. Long Walk Home

The silence was so thick that Arnold could practically cut it with a butter knife as he and Helga walked silently along the sidewalk together. It was an awkward silence that had started back at the classroom once they had been left alone together and it had continued on since. He wanted to break it, to talk to her about what he had been mulling over all day, but he just couldn't figure out how to start the conversation, as it was they were about halfway to her house and not a word had been said.

"So what did you want to talk about, Football Head? It better not be anything stupid if I have to walk all the way home!", the bully's words were rough like they always were, but it wasn't helping him. Stopping, he ran a hand through his hair lightly; how on earth was he going to start this? Perhaps he should start from the beginning.

"Helga, do you remember FTI?", he asked cautiously, watching as the girl immediately stiffened, the look on her face only briefly betraying her sensitivity to the subject before her face twisted back into it's usual glare.

"Yeah, sure I do, it's not like you can exactly _forget_ a time when a big company tries to buy out your neighbor hood and someone you know manages to stop him.", she said it with sarcasm, her way to hide her discomfort over talking about the subject. Arnold looked down the street, finding it increasingly difficult to look at her as he brought up the awkward situation, but he had to bring it up, because it was his fault. He had been the one to give her a way out, if he hadn't then things wouldn't have turned out quite this way; though he wasn't sure how things would have turned out if he hadn't given her that escape.

"Do you remember what you said to me? On the roof?", he looked back to the girl and noted that she had stiffened again, this time her eyes going wide before she barely managed a nod. He turned away again. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately", he said softly, hearing her breath hitch in her throat.

She had turned the color of milk by the time that he'd returned his gaze to her. This wasn't the same, brash, bossy Helga that everyone always saw anymore, the Helga that he was looking at was a completely different girl. A fear was in her, skittering obviously up and down her spine, wrapping it's icy fist around her and sucking all that was inside away; the Helga everyone else knew didn't show fear. Arnold swallowed, he was in uncharted territory now; if any of his theories about her were wrong he was up to his eyeballs in trouble.

"Did you mean it?", the words came out shaky but they had a shockingly potent effect on the girl before him, she looked like she was about to run. He was reminded of a doe in headlights, fear blatant though she was struggling over the fight or flight mechanism.

- - -

Helga felt blindsided, she hadn't been expecting this, half of her wanted to scream yes while the other half wanted to run and hide under a rock until he utterly forgot about her. The war inside her was draining her quickly of everything she held dear, her ability to breathe, her ability to think, her instincts were kicking in and telling her to be mean, to get defensive; but the half of her that wanted to tell him everything wouldn't let her.

"I-", every snappy comeback in her arsenal got stuck in her throat, and before she knew it she was swallowing them, moving her head in a jerky nod that her body didn't seem to want to perform.

- - -

A flood of mixed emotions came over Arnold as he saw her nod, so many questions came to him, but the most prominent was why had she taken it back? If she'd meant it, if she really did love him and had gone through all the trouble of telling him-even if it hadn't exactly been a planned confession-why had she nullified all of her efforts?

"Then why did you-…", he couldn't hold her gaze anymore, that frightened look was cutting into him too deeply, he felt like he was hurting her. "Why did you take it back?" The bully looked away.

"Because I-…", her eyes looked distant for a second before she shook her head and turned away from him, "criminy! Why does it matter anyway?!", she demanded.

"Well, if you love me, I think I have the right to know…", he said simply; she turned on him then, the fire back in her eyes, the frightened girl from a moment before nothing but a brief memory. She advanced on him, towering over him the way she did all the others at school and looking like she was ready to kill him.

"You think you have the RIGHT?!", he took a step back and she pressed ever forward, "What _pray tell _makes you think that you have the _right_ to know anything?!", Arnold knew that he taken a wrong step as she cracked her knuckles. "You don't have the right to _anything_!", she snapped, "Last I checked they were _my _feelings and as far as you're concerned, I _hate_ you!"

"But Helga-", she picked him up by the collar, the look in her eyes stating that she was not joking, that she would go against any vow that she'd made to herself-which he didn't know about-and hurt him if he continued this endeavor.

"If you want to die, keep pushing", she hissed, her eyes stating that she was telling the truth, "but if you want to live, then this conversation never happened" Putting him down she started away down the street, leaving him there and assuming that he wouldn't follow; but he did.

"Helga, come on! I need to talk to you about this, it's important!", he called as he ran to catch her, the bully didn't even lose a step.

"What's so important about it?! It never mattered to you before!"

"Yes it did!"

"No it didn't! It never mattered! It's not important!", he grabbed her arm and stopped her, forcing her to turn to him, he expected her to glare at him, to growl and threaten him as she had only a moment before but the look he saw on her face was-instead-a distant look of pain, a helpless look that he'd only ever seen on her face once, and that had been in preschool.

"It's important to me", he said gently, "please, Helga, just tell me?", the girl was silent, chewing on her lip anxiously as though trying to keep whatever he was coaxing out of her inside.

"I took it back because-", she pulled away from him and rubbed her arms, "at first it was to save myself from my own humiliation, I intended to bring it up later on with you, when things cooled down and you'd had time to think about it; but as time went on a new realization dawned on me. You wouldn't have given me that way out if you'd felt the same, you would have awkwardly talked about it with me, or wouldn't have said anything at all about it…but instead you-", she swallowed, "you gave me an escape from the entire thing, so that we could both pretend that it hadn't happened…"

Turning away from him, she hurried away down the street, quickly making her way out of sight, not looking back to see if the boy was following her. He wasn't though; he watched her go, guilt having rooted him where he stood. The look on her face had been one that surprised him as she spoke; he could see such pain in her expression, pain that he had caused; an aching lump rose in his throat. He was the cause of this pain, the distant look in her eyes, the hurt softness of her voice; it had been him who'd caused it.

Trying to swallow the lump, he started walking again, deftly making his way to the boarding house and up the stairs towards his bedroom. Some of the boarders had spoken to him, asking him if something was the matter but he'd barely heard them and he didn't answer. Making his way up the ladder, he pulled it up and closed the hatch before he made his way up the steps to his bedroom.

The door was closed and locked before he made his way to his bed and laid down, digging out the notebook and a pen.

_I really messed up_, he scrawled across the available line below the last entry; he hadn't gotten more than those four words written before everything he was feeling finally bubbled to the surface and he pushed the book away, listening to it fall off the bed as he curled up into a tight little ball.

I really messed up…


	4. Apologies

Helga pushed her way into the small apartment that she shared with her family and managed to sneak past the living room opening before her sister noticed that she was there. Heading up the stairs to her room, she ran when she heard that all too familiar "Baby sister~!", coming from behind her. Up the stairs and into her room, she was happy that she'd installed that lock over the summer because she had just locked it when Olga reached it and started knocking and trying the door knob.

As quietly as she could, she slunk to her bed and laid down, keeping as still and stiff as a board, afraid that if she relaxed, something would make a noise and tell her sister that she was in here. At least if she didn't answer, the older girl would assume that she wasn't there.

Finally, the annoying college girl left and Helga was free to sit up on her bed, looking around the room that had become something of her own little apartment inside the apartment. She had food stored in the closet, as well as water bottles; the door locked and she'd gotten into the habit of locking the door when she went out so that if she snuck past her parents quickly enough, no one would notice that she was gone or there at all. It made sneaking out a bit easier.

Lying back on her bed she stared at the ceiling, its plaster was peeling and the wood was starting to show through; the state of her ceiling had never bothered her enough to have Bob fix it-or rather try as the man was practically useless when it came to repairing things. She much would rather have had him try to fix it when she was no longer occupying the room, it made it less likely that he would break something, destroy her room or-worse than either of those-find her stash of love poems and Arnold memorabilia. It was then that her mind drifted to the events of the walk home that she'd shared with Arnold.

She wasn't really sure what to feel about it, half of her was elated that he'd asked her about it, the other half of her was terrified. What did this mean? He'd said that he'd been thinking about what she'd said to him on FTI a lot lately, did that mean that he'd been thinking about her? Or just what she'd admitted to him?

Glancing at the phone she toyed with the idea of calling him for a moment then pushed it away and turned back to look at her ceiling; she didn't want to talk to him, she couldn't talk to him after the way she'd blown up at him. She'd taken everything that he'd said and thrown it back in his face; that alone was enough to not want to talk to him but on top of it, she was sure he'd meant everything that he'd said. That was what made her feel the guiltiest.

She looked back at the phone; she owed him an apology, didn't she? All her life the teachers had been trying to teach her right and wrong-even though she hid it well-their lessons had been learned; now was a time when they would have told her to apologize. But how could she apologize; she was Helga G. Pataki, scourge of P.S. 118, empress of pain and suffering through the entire fourth grade, for her to apologize would be close in shock value as the sudden manifestation of the apocalypse. Either way, though, she owed it to him and she knew it.

Reaching for the phone she grimaced when she heard her sister's perky sweet voice talking to yet another boyfriend, that girl had more suitors than her school had students and it was annoying. No one could use the phone at all when she came home because they called her so much. Realizing that waiting for the phone was a fruitless endeavor she rolled over.

"Great, how am I going to talk to him now?", she asked the air around her before her eyes snagged on the tree outside her window. A sly grin came over her lips and she grabbed her keys before opening the window and carefully transferring herself onto the closest limb of the large oak. If she couldn't call him, she would go talk to him; even if it was a little more difficult, she owed it to him.

- - -

'Chink'

Arnold groaned and rolled over as he was woken from a troubled sleep by the sound of something hitting the skylight; it was almost dark now and thanks to this his bedroom was just as dark. He'd fallen asleep when he'd gotten home and obviously no one in the house had seen it fit to wake him; that was just as well, he'd needed the rest.

'Chink'

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the football head turned his gaze up to the glass in his ceiling, there were two small stones sitting comfortably on the glass; but how had they gotten there?

'Chink'

Another one landed and the boy started climbing, what was the meaning of this? He'd pushed the door to the skylight open when yet another stone fell from the clear night sky and hit him square in the head, had it been larger than it was he was sure that it would have knocked him unconscious, as it was it really did hurt a bit.

Up the few remaining steps and out onto the roof, he made his way to the edge of the roof and looked down, surprised at what he saw. Helga was standing there, holding a small handful of stones that she'd been throwing up to get his attention; but why was she there in the first place? Deciding that it really didn't matter, he hurried to his fire escape and climbed down to the very last platform before the last ladder which ended about two or three feet above the ground.

"Helga?", he could barely see the girl's figure in the quickly fading light, she moved a little, as though she were nervous.

"Yeah, I'm here Arnold", he sat down on the platform and watched her curiously; glad that she couldn't see the surprise on his face in the dark.

"What're you doing here?", he asked; the girl moved again before the street lamp turned on and his vision was renewed though it was dim.

"I came to-", she stopped for a second then looked up at him, he could just barely see her face and the mix of guilt, pain and fear that resided there, "I came to apologize", she said softly, "I shouldn't have yelled at you back there…"

"Helga you don't have to-", the girl cut him off.

"Arnold, for once would you listen to me?", the boy clammed up and it was then that Helga realized she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. "I mean-…", she started; Arnold couldn't help but smile at her, she was trying so hard.

"Helga, I've been thinking a lot lately-"

"Would you just let me talk?!", she snapped; burying her face in her hands for a moment, she groaned and rubbed the back of her neck, "Arnold…"

"Helga, that pink journal that the class found…the one with all the love poems; was it yours?", he hadn't meant to be so direct, but the girl was floundering and obviously needed help.

- - -

At the mention of her notebook, Helga's mouth went dry, immediately her mind snapped to the flight mechanism that was built into her brain. Taking a deep breath she was so happy that it was dark because she was sure that she was red.

"Wh-why would you think-"

"Helga, you can tell me, was it?", the girl gave a fervent nod, turning her gaze to the ground; she was terrified, ashamed and terrified. But now was the time for truth telling, not lying to the person that she loved.

- - -

Even in the dark, there was no mistaking the nod that the girl had responded to Arnold's question with and with it came a pang of guilt that he just couldn't get rid of. So it had been hers…and he was just as guilty as everyone else of making fun of it.

"Were- were all those poems about-…me?", again the girl gave a nod, though this time it was more hesitant; giving a soft smile, he sat back a little. "C'mon, we have talking to do", he said lightly.

The figure on the ground didn't move for a moment and he was almost sure she wouldn't come, she shifted towards the ladder and jumped, grabbing onto the rung and pulling herself up.


	5. They Don't Know What They're Missing

Arnold stood in the doorway of the Pataki house, waiting for the misunderstood and ignored girl that he'd asked to the prom. He could remember that night in his room after she'd come to apologize. She'd fretted and bit on words that he hadn't wanted to hear but had heard them anyway. She loved him, had for as long as she'd known him according to her, which in itself wasn't that much of a surprise after the initial shock dissipated.

Glancing at the wall, he looked through the different pictures and noticed that there wasn't a single one of Helga. Olga decorated the walls but not one picture of Helga graced it; he could remember one of the revelations in the black notebook that over the years had become a journal that he and Helga shared and this only confirmed it. He really was Helga's only source of love.

Her parents showered Olga with love, that much was obvious, but how could a parent be so taken with one child to go so far as to ignore the other, weren't parents supposed to love you? His grandparents were more parents to Helga than her own parents were. True she didn't spend too much time at his house, but when she was there they only treated her with kindness. In retrospect, compared to her own parent, they fawned over her; everyone at the boarding house did-and he sort of got the feeling she enjoyed it.

Helga wasn't the terrible person that people at school saw her to be, nor was she the worthless existence that her family went through such pains to deny existed; she was a soft hearted, kind, caring, guarded person who didn't let people get too close for fear of being hurt. And it wasn't an irrational fear when there was so much around you that had potential to hurt you and did it on a daily basis.

"_I was a mistake, they never wanted me! I mean- they waited thirteen years to have another kid! Who does that?"_

He could practically hear the words she'd yelled to him during their years of companionship. He remembered the night like it was yesterday, could picture her sobbing, it had been raining and she'd climbed the fire escape after running away from home. They hadn't missed her. No one had called the police, no one had gone looking for her and he had realized afterwards how close he'd come to losing her. That thought brought a sour taste to his mouth and he reached, turning a picture crooked, halfway wishing he could just break it because it didn't have Helga in it, though that wasn't in his nature.

Movement to his right caught his attention and he turned, stopping dead in whatever mental track he was on as Helga stepped off of the last step of the stairs. She was beautiful, her hair was done up-looking as though she'd put a lot of time and effort into it on her part-and she wore a pink ballroom dress, the tool skirt was ever so slightly a different color than the corded bodice which matched her shoes. He grinned, holding the pale blue corsage in his hand just a little tighter, being careful not to smash it.

"You look wonderful", he said gently, taking her hand and putting the corsage on her wrist. They were crazy, anyone that would view this lovely young woman as a mistake not worth having around, they were all crazy. Helga was a lot of things, mean, rigid, rough, boyish, scary, daring, fun, sweet, kind and sometimes a little lazy, but she was not a mistake. "I mean it", he said with a silly smile, feeling slightly awkward, "you really do look wonderful."

The smile she gave him made him go weak as her fingers wrapped in his tuxedo collar, leaning in she kissed him, it wasn't an unheard of occurrence but a rare one on her part. But then again they were an odd couple and had been for a while, he'd gotten used to her shyly romantic side. Kissing her back, he smiled when she pulled away, and mumbled a word of thanks that took a moment to register was for the compliment on her appearance and not the kiss.

"Shall we go?", he asked, watching amusedly as a spark lit up inside her that few if any got to see before she all but dragged him from the house. This was the girl that the world ignored, the one whose own family had decided that she wasn't worth the attention over her older sister who practically bathed in it and the one whom had slowly captured his heart from the moment he'd picked up that notebook, pressed the pen to the clean sheet of paper and had written about her.

Taking it out, as he'd put it in the car to give to her to write to him in-they passed it between them and it was her turn, he quickly scribbled one final thought onto the line underneath his previous entry before closing it, handing it to her and driving away from her house. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened it and read his latest writings on the way to the banquet hall that was hosting the prom. She stopped on the last page and he couldn't help but smile as tears slowly gathered in her eyes; Helga didn't cry often so he was particularly proud of the fact that he'd coerced her to with what he'd written.

_They don't know what they're missing..._

End


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